


Southern Comfort

by LunarAsylum



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abused Dean, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Trauma, Demon! John Winchester, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Non-Hunter Sam, Possessed John, Torturer Dean
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-09
Updated: 2014-12-09
Packaged: 2018-02-16 19:15:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2281437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarAsylum/pseuds/LunarAsylum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if John hadn't raised his boys in the life after Mary died? Would they have really escaped all the supernatural out there? Definitely not, especially when John really wasn't John, but a demon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If You Swallow the Bait

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually inspired by a tag I saw on here. I was like "Who does Dean/John Winchester?!?!??" and then the idea popped into my head of many bad things, and then this happened. So yeah. It's gunna be a doozy of a ride! Enjoy all~!

Dean had been running all of his life. It was never necessarily from something or to someone, no, but he was always running. From city to city, he ran, hunting down the ugliest monsters of them all. Sure, you could say he cut down on the human casualties, but that was never really what it was about. Anger management, he'd call it.

 

That's all his job really was. At the end of it all, he had a place called home, and a man to call dad, but he didn't call them either. It was Bobby's place, and Bobby Singer. He was just a guest in a familiar place month after month. Bobby had been good to him when he'd wandered on his doorstep, asking for him.

 

Dean had been greeted with a break-action shotgun pointed at his forehead. He had never felt more welcomed. Even more so once he had explained who he was and why he was there. Discussions had ensued on what they could do about a demon possession, and it turned out Bobby was somewhat of a lore-master, or, at least, a collector of all things lore in book-form.

 

With a little effort and a lot of research, Bobby had found what they were looking for. Several different types of exorcisms, and a way to ultimately kill demons. He distinctly remembered telling Bobby there was no way there were going to find a Knife of the Kurds. The older man had concurred with him, figuring that memorizing and teaching Dean proper Latin were their only reliable retaliation against demons.

 

If the Winchester had been any kind of a skilled hunter before Bobby, he was a lethal and fearsome hunter afterward. He had been trained and practiced in killing in all different types of lore and monsters. Other hunters even feared Dean Winchester, terrified to cross his path or get in his way.

 

The hunter was a man who took no kindness or restraint in his hunts, yet he never made a spectacle of it. There was no morbid amusement or sick joy in the kill. It was simply ruthless, quick and easy. Nothing stopped him, either. No hostage or victim was enough to really faze him or bring him to his knees. Dean recalled that Bobby had once said he was one of the best hunters he'd ever known, and Bobby would know. The guy was fucking ancient.

 

It had taken some time for Dean to really open up to the elder hunter about how he had gotten into the life. He had explained how he had grown up a relatively normal life (minus all the physical and mental abuse from his father, but he had elected not to mention that). He and his brother had grown up motherless, but still it had been an okay life. School, home, sleep. Same routine weekday after weekday. Weekends had consisted of house chores for Dean, and “Daddy Time” for Sam.

 

Things had started to get progressively worse as Dean got older. The beatings became more frequent, and more brutal, the words harsher and biting. Eventually, Sam had started defending Dean, questioning why John had needed to be so cruel and capricious. Their father had explained that he did these things because Dean deserved them, and that the older brother needed to be taught a lesson. He didn't know when he had started to believe and defend John, but Sam eventually stopped trying to protect him.

 

The gap between them had grown so monumentally that when the younger had become integrated into the occult, he had even tried to talk to John about it. That had been the worst mistake of his life. During that moment, his whole entire world had been flipped upside down, and shaken free of all its value, leaving him devoid of self-worth and lacking in self-control.

 

John had explained how it had been his plan for Sam to get into the occult all along. His lips had formed words that left Dean hanging by a thread, his vision bleeding to red with every syllable that fell on uncaring ears. The brunette had then proceeded to grab a steak knife and shoved it right into John's chest, knowing that he should have at least pierced his lungs or his heart, yet his father remained unaffected.

 

Pure white eyes had greeted him in response to his stabbing, and he distinctly remembered running from the house with nothing but several cuts along the left side of his face where John's hand had made contact multiple times and the clothes on his back. He had taken his sweet time getting out of Lawrence, having gone around to several different stores, lifting things into his pockets to make sure he didn't starve on his way to wherever he went.

 

Months is what time he spent moving around from city to city, gathering all the knowledge he could on what he'd experienced with his father. The _thing_ that had been his father. It wasn't long before he ran into someone who had identified as a hunter. They had had a small chat, to which Dean had found out his name was Garth. The smaller, scrawny man had offered him a name and a name only: Bobby Singer.

 

With a hug that had made Dean feel violated and very uncomfortable, Garth had taken off, saying he was hunting a werewolf. While feeling very odd to believe that werewolves existed, he didn't doubt it for a moment. From there, he had made his way up to South Dakota, covering two states and a lot of stolen cars, and now here he was.

 

Practically family with Bobby, and frankly he felt a little pleased with that. He had managed to worm his way into the old man's heart with a little more than a sob story and the strength to do something about it. Dean believed it had something to do with the fact that he never was a dweller of the past. It was simply something to learn from and move on. To do anything else was a waste of time. 

 

Dean would never be able to deny that his past shaped him though. There were certain things, tiny thoughts that echoed through his entire being, showing just how much John had really fucked him up. Bobby had once told him he worked too hard, and if he kept going at that rate, he'd get himself killed or die trying. He had retaliated with saying that he had to learn ropes one way or another, and that he learned best by doing, not by reading or watching. 

 

Though, he would never deny that he had an intense regimen either. He worked out every day, at least an hour a day to make sure he kept his strength up. When he was on a hunt, he slept two to three hours tops, never really resting until the monster was burned, buried or chopped up. Most of the time, it was chopped and burned. When he was off hunt, he was researching and studying endlessly with the books that Bobby had.

 

By this point, he was fairly fluent in Latin, and the other hunter had begun to teach him Japanese since there were a few monsters of the Japanese variety that liked to haunt their territory. It made it easier for him to not bother Bobby when it came down to a possible case that he needed to research a couple of things before heading out to take care of the problem. 

 

At the moment though, there was very little case-wise in their area, so Dean had settled himself down in his room, several books of biblical and satanic lore piled around him. He was still learned all he didn't know about demons to see if there was potential spell work that could kill a demon. Lately, all he could focus on was hunting down John Winchester and ending the son of a bitch's life.

 

After everything he had been through in the last couple of years, he thought he deserved the one round of personal victory, to soak and gloat in the wave of revenge. His chest filled with a deep breath as he gazed absentmindedly down at the page, unable to truly focus on the words. He had been reading nonstop for the past three hours, it seemed, as he looked up at the clock to note the time. With a smack of his lips, he snapped the book shut, setting it on the nightstand next to his bed. Grabbing the beer bottle next to the book, he pressed it against his lips, sucking down the bitter refreshment with a satisfying exhalation. 

 

He turned his head when he heard Bobby calling his name, brows furrowed as he pushed away from the bed, stretching his body with several satisfying pops. Meandering down the stairs, he called out to Bobby to alert him of his presence.

 

“I think we got a major problem on our hands, boy,” Bobby said, stress and concern drawing his face tight, emphasizing the lines there.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked, folding his arms and resting his beer bottle on his upper arm.

 

“I'm talking the true honest to God end of the world,” the elder responded, flipping several pages of the thin, satin-like pages. 

 

“The bible, Bobby?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he shifted his weight in his hips. 

 

“Yeah, don't think that there isn't any type of truth to this book. Some of it's cock and bull, but this particular chapter is all truth and lore,” Bobby said, pointing to a page. “I've been hearing some things from other hunters, and then the lack of some things, too.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“Spirits, ghosts raising from the dead to come back and haunt those who wronged them. All different kinds of strange things. They all come from this one chapter in particular. I'm pretty sure you know it as Revelations.”

 

“You mean like... Apocalyptic Revelations.”

 

“That would be the one.”

 

“So what, the Devil's real and raising Hell?”

 

“More like the other way 'round. Hell is raising the Devil. I did some calling around and found a hunter out in Louisiana who caught himself a demon. Got some good words out of the bastard, too. Apparently, there's a good ol' demon by the name of Lililth who's doing a little Hell raising to bring out their All-father.”

 

“Great. Anyway to stop this?” 

 

“You got me, boy. From what I can see, they've already gotten a good way through the locks to free Lucifer,” Bobby said, flipping the bible closed with a sigh. “I don't get how this could be happening, and why, all of a sudden.”

 

Dean's eyes narrowed after several moments of quiet thinking. He had a pretty good idea what might be behind all of this, especially since now, Sam would be 22. That seemed like the perfect age for John to try and take advantage of a now adult Sam. The idea made his blood boil, his joints bleeding white as he gripped his beer bottle with rage. 

 

“Dean?”

 

“I have an idea _why_ this started,” he said. “The Devil's gunna need a meatsuit, right? When I left, John told me that he meant to get Sammy into all that shit. I have a big feeling he's behind all this nonsense with Lilith.”

 

“You still don't have any idea what demon is possessing John?” Bobby asked.

 

“Nah, but I'm sure I could find out,” Dean said, grinning as licked his lips. “I think I'ma take myself on a demon hunt.”

 

Bobby frowned at that, standing up to meet Dean's level. He could see the concern welling in the flesh around the elder's eyes, as they searched his own green ones. 

 

“You be careful, you hear me? You better come back in one piece or I'll tear you into so many more.”

 

“You know I can't make any promises, Bobby,” Dean replied, giving him a skeptical look at the demand that the man had made of him. 

 

“All I ask is that you don't try taking down the big boss on your own. You're a fantastic hunter, Dean, I know, but without a means to actually kill the bastards, there ain't no point in trying to go hard.”

 

Dean only nodded at that as he headed back upstairs to pack his stuff and head out. 

 

Bobby had given him his dream car when he had been there for a year. As a gift, he presumed, for doing so well and actually focusing on becoming a better hunter, the man had decided to restore an old 1967 Chevrolet Impala. It had been far more than Dean could have ever expected or shown appreciation for. He treated her like she was made of gold every time he went somewhere in her. 

 

She was his whole world outside of Bobby and his hunt. He spent a majority of his time with her, and he felt that, while she was an inanimate object, they had a bond. She had done him no wrong in the three years that he'd had her now, and if she had some technical issues, it was mostly easy fixes that Bobby had taught him to fix. 

 

He had been unable to settle on a definite name for her, and mostly just called her Baby. She was his baby after all. Settling into the driver's seat, he ran his hands over the steering wheel with love and affection as he turned the key in the ignition, hearing her lively engine roar to life before him.

 

Exhaling lightly, a smile slipped its way onto Dean's lips, his body relaxing against the leather of her interior. Shifting her into gear, he headed out, knowing exactly where he needed to start. Six hours south of him sat a house that he knew better than he knew Bobby's house. It was a predictable move that he knew would probably be a trap, and very much against his adoptive-father's orders. 

 

So he drove to Lawrence, Kansas. It was a boring and long drive, but he made it with only one stop for the bathroom and to grab some food and water. Once back on the road, he popped in a mixed cassette tape that had of some of his favorite music: Led Zepplin. The music made the trip go that much faster, and he was back in familiar territory before he knew it.

 

Though it had been years since had been to Lawrence, he knew it like it was still the back of his hand. Not much had changed throughout the neighborhoods and a lot of the shops that had been there through his school years were still standing and going strong. He took his time driving through the city. Despite all his attempts to forget, he still missed his home, and he missed Sammy most. 

 

There was a tightening feeling in his chest, prolonging his stop at the stop sign he was currently at as he took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He had never considered the old memories that would be dredged up with returning here. Eyes scanned his surroundings, seeing pictures and stop-motion of him running through the streets to escape his father. Often, little Sammy followed after him despite John's orders to stay in the house. Dean would tell him to go home, but Sam had never listened, always staying by his side. That had all changed though, once Sam was a preteen. He had spent more and more time with John who left Dean to fend for himself most of the time.

 

Now, though, the hunter often wondered how John had gotten away with it all. The physical assaults, the yelling and screaming, broken objects laying dejected on the floor after they had missed or hit their target. There were not many days where Dean didn't have a bruise from a punch, or a grip that was too tight for his comfort. 

 

Inhaling deeply, he let it released in one big sigh, pressing his foot on the gas pedal to continued through the neighborhood. Within moments, his old home was in front of him, lights blaring through the windows that were as curtain-less as ever. Narrowing his eyes, he focused, waiting for a person to pass the windows. It didn't take as long as he anticipated, and he was pleased to see that it was in fact, still John and Sam that lived in that house.

 

Making a quick u-turn, he headed out of the area and back into downtown to find himself a cheap motel. Finding one with ease, he parked and headed into the office to order his room. Using an alias as always, he booked the room for the next two nights, before getting back in his impala and driving down the long parking lot to his corner room. 

 

He slept restlessly that night, his mind swirling with memories and envisions of what was to come, tangling together comfortably within his mind. It left him sweaty and uncomfortable when he woke, his heart pounding madly, his hands unknowingly clenching the sheets. Several deep breaths later, he sat up, the sun peeking through the heavy linens that were draped over the window. 

 

Hurriedly, he prepared himself for his day, packing his duffel with various things from the trunk of his baby. Gently shutting her trunk, he rounded the car, throwing open the driver door and tossing the duffel into the seat beside him. Plopping down with a bounce to the suspension, he jerked the door shut with a thud. Starting her up, he took no time to relish in her purr, pulling out of the parking lot with haste.

 

It didn't take him long to navigate back to John's neighborhood. He headed further down the street, parking about seven houses down so as not to arouse suspicion from John or the demon within him as he walked nonchalantly up the street, duffel slung carelessly over his shoulder.

 

Step by step, his heart pounded harder and harder in his chest, bringing a familiar ache with it. By the time he was at the front door, he felt as though his chest would explode from the pressure, and it seemed to when he knocked on the front door. His left hand was clasped around a silver dagger, while ineffective against demons, would serve its purpose well either way.

 

There was an extended moment of delay between his knock and an answer at the door, which swung open wide, revealing John in all his glory. The man stopped mid-formation of a word, his eyes stuck on Dean's face.

 

“Hey, Dad. Been a while.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a note to everyone, this chapter involves fairly graphic torture. Read at your own discretion.

“I have to say, I'm surprised with you, Dean.”

 

Pale white eyes were lost against tan, rugged skin.

 

“Yeah?” Dean asked, glancing over at the bound demon from the corner over his eyes. “Cause I have to say, I'm not. You raised Sammy the way you want him, and I guess you got another outcome from me, too. Whether this is what you intended, or not.”

 

Dean's fingers were running over the surface of the knife as he spoke, purposefully slicing the pad of his index finger. The silver blade was sharp, able to easily pierce anything he told it to. Smiling a bit, he grabbed a clear, plastic jug, the wooden rosary beads clanging against it in the momentary silence.

 

“I intended what you became, Dean.”

 

All he could hear was noise coming from the man's mouth, not having any particular care in what he was saying. He had placed the knife back on the table, and was now holding a syringe. Letting his eyes caress the needle, he let it dip below the holy water's surface. His fingers pulled back on the plunger, a small vortex of water forming with the tube as he filled it as much as possible.

 

“You see, I don't really care what you wanted me to be,” Dean said, withdrawing the syringe from the jug, and pressing the plunger, watching as a little water cascaded out. “I just know what I am, and what I'm going to do to you.”

 

“Oh, yeah, boy? And what are you going to do to me?”

 

Dean quirked his lips at that, setting down the needle. He walked to John, placing his hands over top of the older man's bound ones. Putting a good majority of his weight into his hands, he pressed down, his face mere inches from his father's.

 

“I'm going to show you what Hell on Earth really looks like,” Dean said, grinning widely as he pulled back, his hands now removed from their place atop John's. 

 

“Was that supposed to hurt me?”

 

A chuckle escaped Dean's mouth as he picked the needle up again. Admiring the handy work of his imagination, his fingers slid over the clear tube as he turned back to the demon. Bright green eyes glittered against the pale skin.

 

“Oh no, not at all,” he said as he advanced on his victim, gripping his forearm tightly as his eyes traced the blue vein there. “But this will.”

 

He jammed the needle in with no regards for comfort or cleanliness and he injected the demon's veins full of holy water. The screams of agony that greeted him were like music to his ears as he emptied the entire syringe into John's system. His eyes traced over his father's body, watching as his body tried to rid itself off the holy water, muscles flexing and tense beneath the surface of his skin.

 

“What's your name?”

 

“John Winchester,” came the growl.

 

“No, not your vessel. I know your vessel well, you piece of shit. What's your name?”

 

There came no reply that time, only small pants of air as sweat perspired on his skin. Dean chuckled as he headed back to his table, his mind playing over the different ideas in his head. He had so many different ways to inflict pain on this demon that he was truly looking forward to it.

 

“Now, let's not play games. I've uncovered enough of what's going on in the last couple of years to know you're not some petty demon. I know you work for Azazel, or beside him, based on the color of your eyes, and I know your endgame. Free big daddy from cage, just so he can smite all his little, demonic followers. 

 

Lilith, though, I never expected. A war on three fronts here? Occult children, picked by Azazel, and raised to be the perfect vessels, but why you and Sammy, eh? Why did you get stuck with someone, being a big bad guy? Getting a demotion? Just not doing good enough on your job?”

 

Dean could see the fury and surprise boiling behind those human eyes, and it tilted his lips into a smirk. This was his prize fight for the last couple of years. This moment was all he had waited for and then some. Payback for the last 22 years of hell. He was gifted with no response though, so he took up the silver blade. Pouring some holy water into a bowl, he grabbed the large bag of salt he had brought with him, tipping it and watched the cascading fall of white grains.

 

Satisfied with the holy water-to-salt ratio of the bowl, he meandered to the demon, looking down at him. Images overlapped what he really saw, blood, cuts and forming welts and bruises replacing the clothing that the demon was wearing. He felt his heart jump at the chance to tear this man apart, and he had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He was getting over-excited.

 

“You know,” he spoke as he took his sweet time with the knife in his right hand. “This all could've been so much easier.” Slice.

 

“You could've just told me your name.”

 

Slice.

 

“And then I would've had all the fun-”

 

Slice.

 

“By tearing you to pieces.”

 

Slice.

 

No distinct pattern was carved into John's arm, and silence had only greeted him with each laceration. Dean gave him a pitying smile as he tilted the bowl, letting the salt-holy water combination melt into each wound, eliciting groans of pain from the demon. Both wound and skin sizzled, steam rising to warm Dean's soul and face as he hummed a little tune to himself.

 

“Man, it's quiet in here. Think I should turn on some music?”

 

No response. Not like he had actually expected one, but it was amusing to ask anyway. Returning to the table only a couple of feet away, he grabbed the salt bag again, this time, filling the bowl entirely with salt.

 

“See, there's something I'd like to explain to you,” he said as he carried the bowl over to the chair, looking down at the sliced and bloody arm before him. “It feels like you're under the impression that you're going to leave here alive, and you're not.”

 

A scoff. That was all it took for Dean to know that the demon was listening to him. Using two fingers, he spread one of the wounds on his father's arm, tipping the bowl so that salt poured into the laceration. A scream echoed in his eardrum, sending elation and adrenaline through his body as he repeated this in every cut. The screams never stopped, and the wounds became swollen, and oozed a thick red salt-blood mixture that neared on the appearance of foam.

 

“I know things, I've learned things,” Dean continued, sighing as he set the wooden bowl back on the table. “You made a mistake in letting me go, because now I'm going to hunt you, and Lilith, Azazel and my brother down, and I will kill you all.”

 

“You wouldn't kill your brother,” the demon spoke, his breath mere wheezes as he tried to take control over the pain. 

 

“Oh? Would I not? How would you know what I would and wouldn't do?” Dean asked, tilting back around to face him. “You don't know half the the things I've done to get here, to get to you.

 

I've waited. Bided my time until I could hunt your sorry ass down and kill you. Well, torture you first, then kill you. It's no fun if I just watch you die.”

 

The younger Winchester swore there was a hint of fear in the demon's eyes, and he just smiled at him. Dean had done so many things that Bobby didn't even know of, knew many more things that he hadn't told him.

 

“So, are you going to tell me your name?”

 

Silence greeted him like an old friend and he sighed. Of course he'd never hear the demon's name spoken so easily.

 

“Well, alright then,” he said, smirking as he turned back to his table, concocting another means to make the demon suffer. He had a cloth funnel, and clasping the end of it, he took his bag of salt and filled the funnel. Making sure he had a good grip on the top of the bag, he made his way over to the demon, grabbing his face and forcing his mouth open, pouring the salt down his throat. 

 

Muffled screaming pouring from an open mouth as he listened to him choking, his back already facing him as he decided to get a little more creative. Chuckling to himself, he filled a larger bowl that he had with holy water and salt, taking the silver dagger he had and letting it soak in that for a bit as he prepared the smaller bowl with another mixture of holy water and salt.

 

“You wanna know something I've always wondered?” he asked as he turned back to John, who's entire front was covered with a thick red foam of salt and saliva. “What it feels like to cut off a hand, or a foot. Either or, I'm good for both. So today, we're gunna find out!”

 

Laughing to himself as heavy breathing overtook the room, he pulled the knife from the bowl, water dripping from the tip as he grabbed his smaller bowl. He had made preparations beforehand for this exact moment, setting the bowl on a little table he had made. The demon's fingers fell beneath the surface of the concoction, earning Dean a groan of pain before he pulled them out of the liquid.

 

Grasping the palm of the hand tightly, he took off one finger at a time, using all his strength to cut through the flesh and bone. Screams echoed throughout the basement, giving the hunter the kind of music he had earlier longed for. His laughter joined in with the screams, which only intensified when he returned the hand to the liquid.

 

He couldn't stop laughing as steam rose from the bowl, the demon trying to with his hand but was unable to escape the liquid. Closing his eyes, he felt the agony sink in through his skin, giving him great pleasure to know that he was the one who was causing it.

 

“Tell me, is this how you felt when you heard my screams?” Dean asked him, looking down without truly expecting a response. “Pure elation and joy at the fact that you were putting someone in great pain?”

 

Dean didn't know when he let the screams stop, but it was long after they had begun, enough so that he had tired of them and had simply decided to chop the rest of the hand off. Grunts and groans of pain greeted him as he watched the floor next to the chair become slick with blood.

 

“Should I take the other hand? Should I try to burn you in little pieces?”

 

“Do what you want, Dean,” the demon whispered, fury now in his voice. “But they will come for you.”

 

“Oh, over you? See, here's the thing. I already know who you are. I have for a very long time now. I just wanted to here you say your name,” Dean responded. “And I know for a fact that Lilith will not hunt me down over you. In fact, from what I understand, she completely underestimates me. You all do.

 

You don't really understand the human emotion of rage and revenge, not really. Though you, being who and what you are, I figured that would've been your area of expertise. Learning how to dig in and take hold of the thing most precious, and just rip it out, but I was wrong. You don't know human emotion.”

 

“You don't know who I am.”

 

“But I do. See one of your little associates slipped up, before I offed him. Told me all the big bosses names. So come on, Alastair. Tell me what you're afraid of.”

 

All was silent except for the uneven breathing of Alastair who was shocked to hear his name fall from Dean's lips. Their eyes met, and the demon could see mania and glee in those green eyes. Never in all of his time had he encountered someone like this.

 

“You would've been great in Hell, Kid,” he said to Dean, who only chuckled at his remark.

 

“You're acting like I won't be heading there, Alastair, come on now. Keep in mind I'm chopping my daddy, here,” he said, laughing and the dagger suddenly came down, taking off the demon's other hand. A howl of pain arced through the air, bouncing from one wall to the next as it surrounded the both of them. 

 

“Then again, I'm an impatient man, and I don't feel like sitting here and taking the time to chop you into little pieces. You've bored me, Alastair. I expected so much more from you.”

 

The demon watched as the hunter set the silver blade down on the table, his hand then reaching into his jacket to pull out a jagged looking dagger.

 

“I feel assured you've seen this before, right?” he asked, turning around with the flat part of the blade with an engraving facing the demon. If he weren't already pale from lost blood, he would've paled at that reveal.

 

“Where did you get that?”

 

“Oh, you remember your little whore friend Ruby? The one you brought around all the time when we were kids to play with Sammy. Yeah, I took it from her dead body,” he said, grinning. “And now, I'm going to stick it in yours.”

 

Alastair had no time for words as Dean was on him and the knife was in his heart. The demon's vessel shuddered, a golden light shining through the flesh and revealing the skeletal outline as he died. Once he was slumped over in the chair, completely unmoving, the hunter removed the knife, cleaning the blood off on his jacket.

 

“Oops, you left the oven on, John. You shouldn't have done that, because now you've gone and burned the whole house down. Such a shame, John. It was a nice house,” he said to himself as he cleaned up his tools, shoving everything back into his duffel bag. 

 

He headed upstairs, and created a slow fire-bomb for the oven. It would take well over an hour or so for it to catch fire. He soaked the kitchen and other parts of the ground level in gasoline that he carried with him at all times. Satisfied that his bomb of a house would cover up his mess, he left, sauntering back to his impala and heading back to Bobby's.

 

Now, all he had to do was find Sammy.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Bobby discuss what to do about the Apocalypse, with a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alrighty, folks, so my updates for my chapter fics are going to be sporadic. I just started a new job that has very sporadic and long hours, so this might halt for a little while. I'm also working on a new fic that takes up a lot of my time, and will eventually be posted with my Royal Blood series.

“Heya, Bobby,” Dean said as he was greeted by the older man. Tossing his duffel bag onto the dusty and ragged couch, he took this moment to stretch his shoulders, which ached from non-stop driving back to South Dakota. 

 

“How'd everything go, Kid? You get your answers?” 

 

“Yeah, confronted a few of my demons,” he responded vaguely, a satisfying pop sounding in his left ear. Dropping his arms back to his sides, he turned to Bobby only to be greeted with a skeptical look.

 

“Dean, what did you do?”

 

“I'll be honest, then. I confronted my old man.” 

 

He never lied if Bobby could tell he was lying or avoiding the truth the first time. There was no point in furthering ill will with the expert hunter when he had already done so much for Dean.

 

“You  _ what _ ?”

 

“Confronted my old man.”

 

“You told me he had white eyes. That's high level demon right there, Dean.”

 

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

 

“How did you--?” 

 

“I have my means, Bobby,” he said, the finality in his tone stopping the older man in his tracks. He could see the calculating that was going on behind Bobby's eyes, knowing exactly what he was going between.

 

“Right. So what did you find out?” 

 

He approved of the old man's choice not to push it. Dean wasn't one for answering questions when he didn't want to. Inhaling deeply, he released it by clearing his throat and taking it a seat facing Bobby.

 

“Well, you were definitely right about it being the Apocalypse, that's for sure. Big boss daddy was a part of it. His name was Alastair, master torturer in the state of Hell. It seems Hell's owner is out to use my brother as a meatsuit.”

 

“You mean the Devil's going to wear Sam?”

 

“Seems like. So, I guess I got to hunt him down and ice him before the Devil can get topside. It's not just Sammy, though. There's others, it seems. Alastair was telling me how another demon named Azazel was the one to make these kids what they were anyway. Essentially they got a vessel army.”

 

“And how did you--”

 

The glare that Bobby received was enough to make him back-track his thoughts and words, rethinking what he should say.

 

“Right. You got your means.”

 

“Anyway, there's a lot of shit goin' down, Bobby. I'm not sure this is something that we can necessarily take on. I mean, sure, getting rid of a couple of demons is nothing, but stopping the whole damn Apocalypse?”

 

Dean sighed, his thoughts in turmoil as he considered their options. It was easy to be certain they were some of the only hunters smart enough to realize what was going on. The Winchester could lay money that he knew a hell of a lot more than Bobby did about the graveness of their situation.

 

“Dean...”

 

“Yeah, Bobby?”

 

“They've been talking about the Devil as a real, sentient being, right?”

 

“Yeah, Bobby, what's your point?”

 

“The Devil, Dean, is a fallen angel. While you were gone, I did some more digging into the apocalypse and things that have been happening country-wide. There have been a ton of odd cases where people were showing up dead, burned from the inside.”

 

“Are you telling me we got angels on this front, too?”

 

That was not something he had expected. Demons came from all different kinds of lore, had all different backgrounds. Angels were restricted to one religion, and one religion only: Christianity.

 

“Are you telling me there's a  _ God _ ?!” 

 

“I'm not telling you anything, Dean, I'm just pointing out what this leads to, potentially,” Bobby said, frowning a little at Dean's assumptions. “This doesn't lead the bible to be some all truth because things have started happening.”

 

“I figure it kind of does if this is a full on Apocalypse. I mean, doesn't that chapter end with a little brother on brother battle?”

 

“If that's the case then that would imply that if the Devil needs a meatsuit, then so does Michael.”

 

Dean hadn't quite considered that. Taking that into consideration, that an angel needed a meatsuit, too, that changed the ball game just a little.

 

“That raises a curious question then,” Dean said, looking over at Bobby with a grin. “How do you kill an angel?”

 

Just as he asked that question, a radio flicked on, static emanating from it as a sharp whine pierced through the air. It was quiet at first, but painful to the ear nonetheless. Looking over at Bobby, his face twisted in pain as hands moved up to cover his ears, a poor attempt at blocking out the pitch.

 

The first sound of breaking glass was enough to make him drop to the floor, Bobby following right behind him as he hid beneath the table. Soon enough almost all the windows were blown out as the pitch only got louder and louder until silence. Dean almost didn't want to believe that whatever the noise was was gone.

 

Letting his hands fall from his ears, he glanced over at Bobby, who was sharing the same bewildered expression he had as he moved out from under the table.

 

“What in the hell was that?” he asked as he looked around to all the broken windows. Glass adorned the floor in shards, leaving both of them to tread carefully through the house.

 

“I don't know what it was, but I'm pretty sure it's paying to fix all my damn windows,” Bobby grumbled as he looked around at his severely damaged house. 

 

“Don't you have insurance for this?” Dean asked, grinning slightly as he looked over at the now-glaring older man. “Kidding, kidding.”

 

Looked around the place, everything that was glass was broken, leaving the Winchester to question what could have possibly done this. He had to assume it was a focused attack on them, and while Dean had plenty of enemies and monsters out for his head, Bobby had a far smaller number than he did. Perhaps it was Lilith actually seeking revenge for the death of Alastair.

 

“You think a demon would've been able to do this?” he asked, looking over at Bobby who was kicking glass shards out of the way.

 

“I don't know. I've never seen anything unseen do this before, and that's the major focus here.  _ Unseen _ ,” the elder said, looking back at Dean. “I think we've stepped in something we shouldn't have stepped in.”

 

“Bobby, I stepped in this the day my mom died,” he said, causing a disgruntled look to cross Bobby's face. 

 

“What do you mean, Boy?” 

 

“I mean I know a lot more about what's going on than you do. My brother and I'm relatively sure that my father as well are deep into this mess.”

 

“We knew your daddy was--”

 

“No, I mean my actually father. His spirit. He probably died long before this week, Bobby. You know how it's 66 seals, right? To free the devil? Well the first seal is a very particular seal, it has to be broken before any others count towards unlock that hell-door. That particular seal is taking a good, righteous man, say my dad, and making him torture souls in Hell.”

 

“And how would they have gotten his soul in Hell?”

 

“I don't remember Sammy making it out of that house fire that night.”

 

There was a heavy silence between the two as the dots connected for Bobby, causing his expression to become bewildered as he stared at Dean.

 

“You think they planned your family to be in it like this?” 

 

“I think they planned for Sammy to be in it like this. Me, on the other hand, I think they intended me to be dead long before now. I'm a mistake in their eyes, yet I see them doing nothing to try and fix it.”

 

“That seems a bit specific, Dean. Why wouldn't they have just tried to use you? They targeted your brother to be Lucifer's meatsuit. Don't you think...?”

 

“Think what? That I'm somehow the other half to his whole? That I'm the... the what? His Michael!?”

 

“I'm just saying Dean that there's got to be a whole lot more to this than just Sam being used as the devil. The Apocalypse isn't just Lucifer rising. It's Lucifer fighting Michael and roasting half the planet.”

 

“Right, because the book automatically deems that to be the first thing that happens,” Dean said, scoffing at that. “It's not even like I can believe that demons and angels would be consorting with each other to bring on the Apocalypse.”

 

“I don't think so, but you know why Lucifer was thrown into the cage to begin with, right? Because he  _ disobeyed _ . Imagine if all these other angels, especially Michael, the one who booted his ass down there in the first place, feel that this scripture is their lead to follow, then hell yeah this is gunna happen, and the angels won't need demons to make it so!”

 

“Bobby, you're talking insanity here,” Dean said, staring at him. “You really, honestly think that the angels would try to bring on the Apocalypse?”

 

“Yeah, Dean, I do.”

 

A thick cloud of silence hung between them, Dean eying the various shards of glass on the ground. He released a long, slow sigh as he ran over the older man's words in his head, taking into account the credibility that Bobby's opinions brought to the table. There was rarely a moment where the man was wrong about things.

 

“Okay, so what do we do? I don't know anything when it comes down to dealing with angels. As far as I know, the only scripture or lore we've got to go on talks nothing about killing or defending yourself against an angel,” Dean said, running a hand over his face. 

 

“Well, first thing I wanna do is clean up this mess and board up my windows. I'm not having this nonsense happen again,” Bobby said, causing Dean to crack a smile. Despite all the hell and mayhem the man had seen, he never let it slow him down.

 

The two got to work on cleaning up each room of the house, sweeping up and throwing all the glass into a bin that Bobby had found. Opting to use something a little lighter and more see-through than wood, they used several layers and packages of a clear saran wrap that Bobby had had Dean fetch from the store. Each window had an extra wood frame nailed around the inside to keep the plastic wrap in place, allowing them to see out, but with very little protection.

 

“I gotta tell you, Bobby, while I like the idea of being able to see what's coming, I don't like the idea that I can also be easily killed through the hole I looking at them through.”

 

“When you come up with a better alternative, you let me know.”

 

Dean kept silent at that, chuckling a little at the sass he always received from Bobby. He never seemed to miss a step when it came to retorts and come-backs and the taller man wasn't sure what he'd have done if he had never found the older hunter. He might've very well ended up dead at that point.

 

“So what now? Read through all our angel lore in hopes of find ourselves a handy dandy angel warding sigil?” 

 

“I suppose so, Boy,” Bobby said as he took a seat at his desk in the sitting room. 

 

“They won't do you any good,” came a voice from behind Dean, low and gravelly. Spinning on his heel, he turned, gun immediately out and pointing at the intruder. “Dean, we need to talk.”

 

“Who the hell are you?”

 

The man looked ruffled. Black hair astray and tousled, long tan trench coat askew on his shoulders, revealing that he was wearing a black suit beneath it.

 

“I'm Castiel and I'm here to help you. I'm an angel of the lord.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

“I'm sorry, you're a what?”

 

“An angel.”

 

Dean and Bobby exchanged looks, before the Winchester turned his head back to face Castiel.

 

“You're an angel, and you want to help me? Why do you think I need help?”

 

“Because I can tell you that everything Mr. Singer has said to you is correct,” Castiel said taking a step forward. “They need you alive, or else Alastair would've just killed you years ago. You are the other piece of the puzzle.” 

 

“So I'm his Michael.”

 

“If that's how you would like to look at it.”

 

“What's that supposed to mean?”

 

“You are not Michael yourself. You are his vessel, and that is a vast difference,” the angel said, looking between him and Bobby. “You would be long lost if you were to become Michael's vessel, just as Sam will be lost if he were to become Lucifer's vessel. We can let neither happen.”

 

“And what do you propose we do for that exact situation?”

 

“We find Sam and we stop him.”

 

“Oh yes, that clears everything up, thank you, Sherlock.”

 

“No, I'm Castiel.”

 

Dean looked away, annoyance clear on his face as he inhaled deeply. Letting it out slowly, he looked down at the ground before looking back up at Castiel, his lips pursued.

 

“Listen, Cas--I'ma call you Cas—we need a plan. Not just some 'let's pop in and save the day' bullshit. I don't do things half-assed,” Dean said, his face showing his annoyance more than his voice did. 

 

“I've got to assume there's no way to stop Lilith in breaking the seals,” Bobby interjected, cutting in on the tension between Castiel and Dean.

 

“There is, but that's to stop Sam from killing her. The only problem is that Sam knows and is willing to follow through in raising Lucifer. He knows not of the Apocalypse or any of the side of angels. They have taught him that Lucifer is a demon, the first demon.”

 

“So can we kill him?” 

 

Castiel and Bobby both looked taken aback by Dean's question.

 

“Boy, why would you want to kill your own brother?”

 

“If he's the vessel for Satan, the only permanent fix is to kill him.”

 

“That is not always true, Dean, for there are many children that Lilith has under her command due to Azazel's work. I feel assured that any of them would swap their soul with his in Hell.”

 

“So then we kill them all. Hunt them all down, one by one,” Dean said, his jaw set in a matter-of-fact way. “I see no other solution to this.”

 

“If Lilith doesn't die--”

 

“Who's to say there isn't someone else out there that won't kill her?!”

 

“She has to die in a very specific way, Dean,” Castiel said forcefully so that Dean wouldn't cut him off again. “There's a very specific manner that she must die in order to open the cage. Lilith will only willingly stand down for Sam and Sam alone.”

 

“It's like you're trying to avoid killing the thing that my brother became.”

 

“No, Dean, I merely do not understand why you think your brother is not still your brother.”

 

Dean took a step forward as his rage boiled over, placing himself right in front of Castiel. His hand gripped the lapel of his trench coat, pulling the angel closer.

 

“I don't give a damn who or what you are, and I don't care what you think you know. You have no right to tell me that my judgment of my own brother is incorrect. I know what he's done and what he will do, and he deserves to die for it,” Dean growled, before releasing Castiel's coat and exiting the room. The slamming of a door, greeted both Bobby and the angel, the older man flinching a little at the sound. 

 

Castiel looked away from where Dean had been standing moments before, inhaling and exhaling slowly, turning to Bobby moments later.

 

“Bobby, I have to ask you, what all do you know about Dean's childhood?”

 

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

 

 

Dean had been driving for what seemed like hours, but really it had been a fraction of that. The gravel rumbled beneath his car as he pulled back into Bobby's drive-way, lights glaring through the plastic wrap that now covered his windows. Frowning, he saw Castiel pass by the window, and he pulled the keys out of the ignition, pushing open the door. With more force than necessary, he closed the door, the noise resounding through the lot as he headed towards the front door.

 

Entering the home, he hoped to avoid a conversation with the other two as he headed towards the stairs.

 

“Dean,” Bobby called predictably. Heaving a sigh, he turned to head towards the sitting room, where Castiel now sat, looking very out place in the otherwise dirty and messy home.

 

“What?” he asked, his voice guttural with irritation. It seemed Castiel was blatantly avoiding making eye contact as he stared down at the beer bottle in his hands. 

 

“We need to come up with a solid plan. I vote on not killing the kid first. If it comes down to it, then we do what we must, but is killing him really your only option?” Bobby asked him, staring him down.

 

While it wasn't his only option, it was the only choice he wanted to make. There had been nights, so many different nights where Sam could have done something, should have tried to do something, but he never did. He never stood up to their father, not directly. Sam had always been the normal one, while Dean was the one who walked to school with a limp most weeks.

 

“Logically, your idea is sound,” he said, and that was the closest he would come to saying yes. “All I can say is I make no promises on what I do when I see him.”

 

That answer was good enough for Bobby, who nodded at the Winchester, before Castiel stood from his chair.

 

“The events will be taking place in Illchester, Maryland, in three days, from what I hear,” he said. “But first, I'd like to secure this place before we have any discussions about plans.”

 

“Secure it how? I've got all the weaponry we need,” Bobby said, sounding indignant that his home wasn't secure enough. 

 

“I mean that we need to ward it from both angels and demons. Angels will be looking for me, especially those from my garrison. Demons will be looking for anyone related to a Winchester.”

 

“Right, and what do you propose we do?” Dean asked, looking very skeptical at the angel before him. His vessel looked young, but the expressions he made with the face made it seem as though he were inexperienced and reckless. 

 

“Do you have paint?”

 

Bobby led the angel downstairs, grabbing all the paint that they could. Castiel explained on the way up that there were several enochian sigils that they needed to place at all cardinal directions of the house.

 

“I'll show you how to draw them first, and then both you and Dean can go take care of the other directions downstairs, and I'll take care of the ones upstairs. We need to do this as quickly and efficiently as possible.”

 

After separating the paint into portable buckets and a paint brush for each of them, Castiel began to draw the sigils with a speed and precision that Dean had honestly not expected. They were simple enough, and he took off the moment the last was completed so that the house would be warded quickly. It took them about twenty minutes to have the house completely secured, the angel checking the work just to make sure.

 

“Right, so, there's a few things I need to teach the both of you about dealing with angels and, at this point, Lilith. I understand, Dean, that you have a knife of the Kurds, and that was how you eradicated Alastair,” Castiel spoke, looking at Dean who received a stunned look from Bobby.

 

“You have a  _ what _ ?”

 

“I lifted it from a demon about three months after I came here,” Dean said nonchalantly. “I preferred to keep it a secret in case I was followed or hunted back here. They didn't need to find out that I had it.”

 

The anger in Bobby's expression didn't subside at Dean's explanation, but Castiel's voice cut in on the moment of deceit to continue explaining.

 

“That will work on most of the demons that Lilith will have surrounded Sam with, and I will also be of use to you as well if there is any trouble in infiltrating the location, but just in case, they might have the place warded against angels, meaning I'll either be unable to enter, or powerless, depending on what they've used. 

 

So there's this--” He pulled a long, slender silver blade from his pocket, the rounded hilt pointed towards Bobby. “This is an angel's blade. This can kill almost anything that we know of. Including me. Just so you understand, if you are to encounter an angel, this is the only thing that can kill them. Unless they are an archangel”

 

That was mighty useful to know and answered a lot of their earlier questions.

 

“So I have a question,” Dean intervened, looking from the blade to Castiel. “Why exactly are you helping us?”

 

“I've been trying to help you for months, Dean, but my superiors often interceded my attempts. They want the Apocalypse as much as the demons do. It is Michael's intent to blow Lucifer into smithereens, but with Lucifer goes the planet as well. It had never, nor will it ever be oue mission to wipe out that which we were designed to protect. 

 

The Heavenly Host believes that it is doing God's will, but I long ago established that He has been absent for some time. I began to feel as I watched the two boys that were destined to grow up and become tools to our cause, and it gave me purpose for rebelling. So now, I am here, and I am helping you stop this Apocalypse.”

 

“If you watched me grow up, then you should've helped a long ass time ago,” Dean snarled, fury rushing to his face in shades of red. “You could've done more than what you're doing now.”

 

Castiel cast his eyes aside, unable to look Dean in the face at that. He had watched and seen so much pain and agony emit from such a small boy. Pleas, prayers and cries for help had reached all of Heaven, and yet no angel lifted a finger to help the boy, because he was part of a prophecy. It happened as it was intended.

 

“Dean, I--”

 

“Save it.”

 

The angel looked up to see Dean looking away, but the wetness that streaked his cheeks didn't escape those piercing blue eyes. It truly made his chest ache to think that after all these years, that vile demon still cause him pain.

 

“Dean, I would have done something if I could have, but you have to understand that I would never have made it to you if I had tried. Everything, all the bad things and the good things, they were protected by divine prophecy, meaning that one of my brothers, one of the archangels protected those heinous acts. 

 

It was the first thing that made me question whether this was the intent and will of God. Dean, you are what made me be here today. You are the reason that I have defied Heaven and work against my brothers and sisters in what will ultimately lead to my death, but that does not matter to me.”

 

“Oh yes, good and well for your sacrifice, except for the fact that I don't care. Your action now does not fix what happened then,” Dean snapped, his fists balled at his side. 

 

“I am not saying that it does, Dean. I am saying that I am trying to stop more bad things happening to you!” Castiel said, his voice loud and angry. “So I wish you would stop treating me like I see you as a thing to pity, or see my help as a way to say I feel sorry for you. That is not the case, Dean. I see you as a person who is going through a difficult time and you cannot do it alone. So, for one moment, stop thinking of yourself as the person who does everything alone, when you know that's not the case.”

 

The Winchester was stunned into silence as the angel raising his voice like that. He had never expected this man to stand up to him, especially like that. His eyes took in the man for a moment, really, truly looking at him and observing him. Underneath the inexperienced quirks behind his movement, he could see the strain of alertness on the angel's body.

 

As he continued to look over him, he could see more and more tells of a certain maturity to him, especially in his eyes.

 

“Fine. So let's make a plan to take down these sons of bitches. I want to be prepared for every possible outcome of this,” he said, inspiring a quirk of Castiel's lips as the angel smiled. Perhaps working with this celestial being wouldn't be so bad after all.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Several hours had passed, and a lot of talking and planning had been done in regards to dealing with the Apocalypse at hand. Dean was the least communicative in the planning, as his heart was set on the final motion they had to make if all else failed. 

“So once the Devil makes his way up here, there's no way to stop him from wearing Sam?” Bobby asked, several books open and splayed in front of him. 

“Potentially, but I'm not sure the standing between Dean and him is sound enough to persuade the boy otherwise. I'm thinking we should focus on the circumstances in which he must kill Lilith. There is a certain ritual that has to be done before the door will unlock. Once that happens, I'm not sure what else there could be to do.”

“Will anything kill an archangel?” Dean chimed in for the first time in a couple of hours. 

“Only an archangel's blade. There are a few means to stop or slow them down, and I have a friend who might be willing to assist us in this. I cannot guarantee that, though, as he has preferred to align with a side at this point,” Castiel said, casting a side glance at Dean. “Are you still on the idea of killing your brother?”

“No, I'm on the idea of killing Michael. It's the fight that roasts the planet, right? Realistically, we could open the damn cage ourselves and shove Satan back in, but Michael is the force that's really pushing all of this.”

“Dean, you're his intended vessel.”

“Right, but does that mean I'm his only vessel? I feel assured there's some loophole that he'll find in order to make this work on the account that I say no,” Dean said, shifting his position on the couch a little. “We can't just assume that the dickheads above think all will comply. Especially me, if you all have really been watching me over the years.”

“I think, perhaps, they expected you to be broken enough that the assistance of an angel to give you your much desired revenge would be compelling enough,” Castiel responded.

“Nothing would 'compel' me enough to let something possess me. I've seen what possession does to someone, even if it was a demon,” the Winchester muttered.

“Even if it meant saving your brother?” Castiel asked, his tone showing he was unconvinced.

“Have I done anything that has convinced you I want to save him?” Dean replied, his expression dismayed. 

“You didn't hunt him down after you killed Alastair and your father.”

“Because he wasn't nearly the source of all my problems.”

“But you're holding an anger against him as if he is. Do you see why I don't believe you, Dean? I've seen brothers fight and have disagreements for a very long time, and that is one thing that rarely changes. I know when family ties end, and you have not ended yours. You've merely run away from it.”

Silence fell on the room like an uncomfortable suffocation. Looks were exchanged between Bobby and Castiel, while Dean refused to meet anyone's gaze. The angel considered whether he had gone too far, but he would hold to his argument. When the time came to confronting Sam, he had no doubt that Dean would not really harm him. Brothers fought, but their bond was as strong as the bonds of old. They were descendants of Cain and Abel, which is why they were ultimately the vessels for this Apocalyptic battle. 

“I think you'd be surprised. You may think you understand feelings because of what you've seen, but everyone is different. To hunt down Sam would've been a waste of my time and effort. I have no doubts that he would've been covered by several expecting and high powered demons as I feel assured they knew I'd hunt down Alastair and kill him. He wouldn't have been at that house if they hadn't.

“So I would prefer it if you didn't question my resolve or my feelings because I am the only one who knows what I am willing to do. Perhaps you should go peer through your memories and look at what I did to my father before you press on,” Dean said after a few more moments of silence. He slid off the couch with grace, his feet planted firmly on the ground as he stood. His gaze was steely as he looked down at Castiel and Bobby. 

“Let me know when we've got a decent plan,” he said, turning quickly and heading upstairs. The angel and elder were greeted with a door slamming moments after, causing them both to sigh. 

“I'd ask if he was always like that, but I already know,” Castiel said, running a hand through his hair. Bobby's expression was exasperated, before he mulled over his books in silence. 

“You've said that Lilith has to be killed in a certain way. Do you know how?” he asked after a few moments, looking up at the angel. 

“I only know the crucial parts which is that she must be slain over the entrance to the cage, which is at a convent in Illchester, Maryland. I also know that Sam is to use demonic powers that were cultivated by a demon named Ruby in order to kill her. I do not know whether that is a crucial part to the ceremony,” he responded. 

“And the Devil with definitely take Sam the moment he rises?”

“From my understanding, yes. Sam has been more than complacent in events that have taken place, and I assume that it is all willingly.”

“So our only chance to stop this is to stop Sam completely,” Bobby said, looking down. The more he thought about it, the less likely it seemed of convincing the younger Winchester. “Perhaps Dean is right.”

“I don't think so. I've seen the boy, and from my perspective, he still craves a relationship with Dean. The demons have misled him into thinking that Dean has died.”

“What?” Bobby asked astounded. 

“I know, it's a cruel thing—“

“No, not that. That he thinks Dean is dead is one thing, but maybe, just maybe, seeing Dean will be enough for him to stop. I mean, to think that your brother is dead, only for him to not be? That has to be a one of a kind thing.”

“Actually—“

“Save the technicalities. I mean in this scenario,” Bobby said, looking unamused.

“So you're saying, just showing up with Dean there might be enough?” Castiel asked skeptically. “I feel that could backfire.”

“How?”

“Well, I'm not so sure that I'd be so inclined to see someone who had betrayed me and supposedly died. I would feel even more betrayed, and if he is so deeply engrossed with his occult lifestyle, he may even think that Dean is not really Dean.”

“He only knows about demons, right?” Bobby asked the angel, flipping a book closed as he leaned back in his chair. “If that's it, he won't know about anything that could pose as Dean. For all we know, he could think him a demon.”

“How would that be helpful?”

“He's working with demons, ain't he?”

“You pose a credible point.”

Bobby's expression was clearly annoyed at that point as he looked away from Castiel. It could go either way, but it was a chance they had to take. 

“So this is how it should go. We take Dean there, and see how Sam reacts. If it goes well, he lives. If it goes bad, Dean gets to kill him,” Bobby said, the last part of his plan coming out slowly. He still didn't feel comfortable with the idea of Dean killing his younger brother.

“Sounds good to me,” came a voice from the doorway. The two turned to see Dean standing there, arms folded over his chest and legs crossed. “When do we leave?”

“I can actually teleport us there, so we needn't leave until several hours before the ritual,” Castiel said, causing both Dean and Bobby to look skeptical.

“Teleport?” Dean asked, still leaning against the frame of the doorway. 

“It is within the skills of angels.”

“And what else can you all do?”

“That is a very long list, Dean.”

“Make it short and sweet. Tell me the important things.”

“Well, to put it simply, you could imagine a demon like Lilith or Alastair, and imagine them thrice as powerful, and then imagine two of those.”

“That was not simple,” Dean responded, pursing his lips. “So essentially, you can do all the things demons can do, but better.”

“And more. We can smite demons. There are so many different types of angels to really pin it down to a general idea.”

“Well, how about the guys like you. The ones we'll probably be dealing with,” the Winchester said, heaving a sigh and pushing himself away from the frame. “I think that's important knowledge. You've only shown us how to ward against them, but is there anything to keep them from tracking us while we're on the move?”

“I could always brand enochian warding—“

“No. No, I think I'm okay without being branded.”

“I meant on your bones, Dean, not your flesh. It's more permanent, and is less likely to be disabled due to wounds,” Castiel said, looking between him and Bobby. “If we are to succeed with Sam as well, I would need to brand him, too. The angels will not be pleased that their plans were averted.”

“So, we need the branding either way, because we're becoming angel target practice?” Bobby asked, leaning forward in his seat. “You didn't mention the wrath of heaven.”

“It is not the priority right now.”

“No, but it is our future, and I'd want to know that,” Dean said exasperatedly. 

“I'm not sure I understand your anger with this,” Castiel said, looking at the Winchester.

“It's not anger, it's frustration. The fact that not only will I be running from demons, but now angels, too. It just makes things a lot more complicated,” the brunette said, heaving a sigh.

“You will not be running from all angels. I am not the only one who disagrees with what is commencing, but I am one of few who decided to act on those doubts. We will not be alone.”

“No, but we'll have an archangel by the name of Michael on our asses,” Dean retorted. “I doubt many of your angel buddies are willing to go up at against that. I think I'd rather just let him smite me than run.”

Castiel looked away from the younger man, running a hand through his hair again. It seemed that the Winchester was very bent on focusing on the negative instead of what was genuinely productive of this. He honestly doubted that Michael would step down from Heaven in order to right the wrong that he felt had been done. Especially not for one human, however significant that human was. 

“I do not think that you will be harmed. If our plans succeed, they will be more interested in Sam than you, because you are Michael's vessel. If they are to continue on with their plans of releasing Lucifer from the cage and having their Apocalypse, you have to be alive and in perfect condition.”

“Right, because that's even better to look forward to,” the brunette muttered, causing Castiel to sigh.

“I give up. If you're only going to focus on the things that are bad for you, perhaps you should not speak at all,” Castiel said, as he stood curtly. “I encourage you to prepare yourselves for our trip to Illchester, Maryland. Despite the easiness sound of our plan, it will be anything but.”

A flutter of wings greeted their ears, and the angel was gone right before their eyes. Dean looked offended and confused, and Bobby looked amused. The Winchester caught his expression, his face souring as he glared at him

“What?” he asked harshly, earning a chuckle from the older man.

“Angel boy's got a point about you,” he said, earning a scoff as Dean walked away. “Get ready, boy. We got some serious fighting to do!”


	6. Chapter 6

“The plan is understood completely?” Castiel asked, looking between Bobby and Dean, but his gaze lingered longer on the younger.

 

“Do you have to keep asking that?” the Winchester asked, his lips curling with the frustration in his bones.

 

“When you're more set on killing than saving your brother, I feel the need to be more compelling than usual,” Castiel responded, earning an exasperated release of air.

 

“We really have to teach you to not be so literal,” Dean groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if it would relieve his frustration. “We understand the plan, dude.”

 

“Right,” Castiel said, looking between them again. “I will place us just outside the convent, where there is bound to be demons guarding the entrances.”

 

“And we'll gank them, and infiltrate, and gank more bitches until we get to Sam,” Dean short-worded the plan, glaring at the angel. “We get it. Keep on guard and fight through.”

 

“That is the general idea.”

 

“Can we just go? We've got a couple of hours before this shit's supposed to go down,” the Winchester moaned, before a hand was placed on his shoulder, the other hand on Bobby's. Their surroundings warped and disappeared, a blinding whiteness engulfing them. His entire body felt light and heavy, pulling at parts of him, making him feel like he was being torn apart.

 

Then it was gone, his feet on solid ground, Castiel's hand still gripping him tight. His stomach churned, doing enough somersaults to make him nauseous. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath in attempts to calm himself and his stomach, before looking around, taking in his surroundings.

 

Castiel had placed them relatively hidden so they wouldn't be immediately barraged, a tree to their left, guarded by a fence, shadowing them.

 

“There's five demons immediately in front of us,” he said, before he was gone with a breeze, light flaring up in front of Dean and Bobby as he smote two demons. They charged in with haste, Bobby wielding a shining angel blade, while Dean's hands shared, one gripping the knife of the Kurds, the other an angel blade.

 

In moments, the guard unit was dispatched in silence, the only noise being the fluttering as Castiel's coat in the wind. It was oddly picturesque the way they stood there, the angel at the helm, back straight as his eyes scanned. Dean was hunched slightly, peering around the man to gather his own surroundings while Bobby had his back against the wall of the building, blade resting by his side.

 

“Six more on this side, spread out,” the angel murmured to them, and he was gone again, giving Dean and Bobby reason to move. Stealth did not evade them that evening, feet barely disturbing the grass that had died, and it was almost too easy how he approached two demons lazing about, one blade penetrating from behind, while the other slit a throat. Both bodies glowed with the demonic deaths, crumpling to the ground sickly.

 

“Let's move in,” Dean said gruffly, a bright craze to his eyes as he gave his partners a smirk, forging ahead. The angel and the man followed after him, sharing a concerned expression before the entered the convent.

 

It was surprisingly devoid of any protection, raising all of their senses. Slow, calculated steps were taken, pauses at corners as eyes peered around to clear the way. It wasn't long before they heard speaking, two voices, a female and a male. One was familiar to Dean, setting a stone heavy in his gut as his fists turned to ash around the hilt of his blades.

 

“Focus, Dean,” Castiel said from beside him as they made for the door that stood between them at their goal.

 

“Oh, I am focused,” he said, his jaw tight and locked. Fury pulsated in his cheeks as they came to the door, the voices muffled, but understandable.

 

“Sam, how you've come so far,” purred a sultry sounding woman, which made Dean grimace.

 

“I know,” came the response, automatic and short. It set the older Winchester's nerves on end, and suddenly, the doors swung open, Castiel no longer beside him as he infiltrated the room which was chock full of demons.

 

Lights grazed dark and unforgotten corners of the room as demons fell, one after the other, blades plunging into hearts, grunts and cries released from the prison of lungs. It fell quiet shortly after the last baby demon fell, and the three stood against Lilith and Sam, blades raised in defense. A laugh, high and sickly sweet, greeted them, azure eyes glittered before disappearing as they became white.

 

“Hello, boys,” she said, looking between the three of them. “I'm glad you've made it for the rising of our father.”

 

“Dean...?”

 

His name stole his attention, causing him to look at his stunned and heartbroken little brother.

 

“Heya, Sam,” he said, his words forced out against the will of his lips. His face was pulled taut, smooth it against the wear and tear of stress and age.

 

“How? Dad... he told me you—“

 

“That's a piece of work I can't believe you trusted,” Dean said, taking a step forward. “You know that man was a demon, right?”

 

The look on Sam's face answered him faster than his words, causing him to step back, next to Castiel.

 

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, his blades now lax at his sides. “Let me put it to you straight, Sam.”

 

Castiel opened his mouth to say something, but Dean spoke first, cutting him off.

 

“You're either going to choose to kill that skank bitch right there, making us have to gank you, or you can choose safety, and these two will whisk you away to a better life,” Dean said, a hand gripping his shoulder, keeping him calmer than he would've been,

 

“W-what?” Sam asked, confusion apparent in his entire body. Lilith was looking between him and Dean, confidence slowly leaving her. Worry was bright in her eyes as she stepped closer to the younger Winchester.

 

“Don't listen to them, Sam. Your brother wouldn't kill you,” she said, just loud enough for Dean to hear, causing him to surge forward.

 

“You bet your ass I would,” he snapped as his angel blade was brought up and placed at her neck, preventing her from moving from his brother's side. “I'd knife you soon, but see, I know a couple of things.”

 

Dean leaned in close, his lips brushing against her cheek as he whispered words only for her. She staggered backwards, fear discernible in her eyes.

 

“No,” she gasped out, a little bit of blood clinging to her neck like a choker.

 

“Oh, yes,” he said, his grin creasing his cheeks with mock joy, a laugh darkening the atmosphere. “Now you.”

 

The knife of the Kurds was pressed against Sam's throat, raising his jaw slightly as he pushed against him.

 

“I'd like to hear your decision, and you don't have long, Sammy. In fact, I'd say you've got fifteen second before I slice clean through you,” Dean said, his words intimate, dancing coldly against Sam's skin. A shiver ran through him, his throat feeling a nick occur and blood pooled around the edge of the blade, before slipping down.

 

“Dean,” he said, his eyes pleading with his brother. “Please. Don't do this. We can fix this.”

 

“You're right. In six seconds, you'll have given me your answer, and we'll know just how fixed this problem can be,” he said, smile still stark on his face, betraying the rage in his eyes.

 

“Okay. Okay,” Sam said, raising his hands to show surrender. “I won't. I'll go with you.”

 

It took several moments for the older Winchester to withdraw the knife, his whole body having been intent on slicing through the flesh of his brother. His hands were shaking with adrenaline, and he inhaled deeply as he let his hands fall to his side, his feet talking a short step backwards. He heard footsteps, and distinctly wondered why Lilith was being so docile.

 

Within moments, he understood as a sudden pain engulfed his stomach, and he looked down to see the point of an angel blade, _his_ angel blade. Several blinks allowed him to process the immense pain he was in, his body shuddering as he sank to his knees. Blinded ears barely heard the shout of no, and he looked up blearily. Green eyes focused on the fact that Sam stood before him, his arm raised and his fist clenched. 

 

Choking was wrapping around him from the demon that stood behind him, alerting him to the fact that Sam was doing what they had attempted to stop in the first place. The pain in his gut kept him lucid, his eyes swimming in and out of focus as his brother sank to his knees before him, hands grabbing his face.

 

“Dean! Dean, stay with me, come on!” his brother pleaded, tears streaking his face. Hands squished his cheeks, making it harder for him to speak, and just as he got the strength to talk, everything went black. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Bobby had an argument with Sam over whether or not to give Dean a burial a few days later. It had been short lived, the Winchester winning by saying that after all this time, his brother deserved something proper. The place of burial was another argument, but Castiel had intervened morosely, suggesting somewhere remote where the Winchester wouldn't be bothered. 

 

Sam had agreed with the angel on that, figuring it was the best option they had. While he wanted to give him a true and proper burial, they just didn't have the time or the money to do so with Hell literally coming to Earth. The night that Dean had died, Sam had let his anger take control and he had murdered Lilith, opening the door wide open for Lucifer to come free. Castiel had been the one to teleport all of them out of there. 

 

Bobby had been the one to secure a simple, but effective coffin, and it made the younger brother feel a little better that they weren't just sticking him in the ground. Once they had arrived at a hidden clearing within the woods a few miles past the convent, it took several hours to empty the new grave site, Sam's body aching. They lowered the make-shift casket into the ground, and stood there in silence for a few moments before recovering him with the displaced dirt. 

 

Sam pat it down securely, drawing a cross in the dirt with the shovel. Tears still streaked his face as he was drawn away by Bobby. Castiel had claimed that he needed to do a couple of things in regards to Lucifer now being free and circling for a vessel. The three of them mourned in their separate ways, Bobby inviting Sam back with him to his home so he wasn't alone. 

 

The Winchester took the offer, deciding that being a decent amount of mileage away from the scene of his crime was best for him. The boys and their angel parted ways for a small amount of time, doing their best to keep it together now that Hell was breaking loose. They still had work to do.

 

*~*~*~*~*~*

 

 

Dirt flew around the lithe body of a man no one knew. A shovel ground down and hit wood, pounding until he was sure that it was him. His foot swept back and forth, dusting it haphazardly, before stepping aside to lift the top. A fresh body was shown to him, clothing dirty and bloody like he had been buried after battle.   
  
"Hello, sir. I came as you told me," said the man, his voice deep and smooth, betraying his small size. The man hoisted himself up the side of the grave, grasping at the blade that had sat waiting for its owner.   
  
"I still don't understand why you wanted to be buried with this," spoke the man again, talking to nothing. Kneeling, he let one hand grasp the dead man's wrist, placing the hilt of the blade against his palm and curling the fingers around it.   
  
Gently, he laid the hand back to rest, standing and looking down upon his master.   
  
"May you rest lightly, sir," he murmured, letting his mourning take over.

 


	7. Chapter 7

Black eyes flashed wide and awake, the thrumming of life vibrating harder in his hand and the Blade urged him to move. It took him a moment to truly adjust to his surroundings and the newness of himself. 

 

“I must admit,” he said after a few moments, stretching his body as he eased himself into a standing position, black eyes meeting black eyes. “I almost didn't expect you to come through.”

 

“Why do you say that, sir?” the demon asked, bowing his head slightly in respect. 

 

“Because you're an idiot,” Dean said, before he sank the jawbone into the demon's chest, the crackling of supernatural life bleeding into his hand. A smirk sank into his lips, withdrawing the blade and letting the new corpse replace his. He left the grave uncovered as he headed towards an unplanned destination. 

 

Months of research had gone into the Mark, and he had found one demon, by the name of Crowley, who had been most helpful in revealing all its dark truths to him. He had spared the demon as payment for his time and information, before traveling all over the states in search of Cain. It hadn't taken long, only a month for him to find a spell that could locate the source of the Blade's power. 

 

From there on, he had taken up the Mark and willingly accepted the burden of the kill in his heart. He hadn't quite anticipated on being killed in order to advance into the demon stages of the Mark, but it was a welcome change. 

 

“Hmm, what to do, what to do,” he said to himself as he walked down the winding path out of the woods. There were so many things he could do, now that he was next to immortal. Giving himself a shrug, he vanished from the spot, leaving the midday air just as it was. 

 

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

“So we've got the beginning on an Apocalypse on our hands,” Sam said, looking between Bobby and Castiel. “I still can't believe—“

 

“Don't,” Bobby said, looking at him. “It's hard enough as it is. The only positive I can see out of all of this is Michael's lost his vessel.”

 

It had been two weeks since Dean had died. Things were shockingly quiet, but it gave them the time to gather intel, and to mourn the loss of Dean. 

 

“While that is true, I can almost assure you that he will find another,” Castiel said, earning a collective groan. “I'm simply being realistic.”

 

“The thing I'm most concerned about is how quiet it's been,” Bobby said, looking over at the angel. “I mean, by now he'd have had to find someone. There should be things going down.”

 

“You have a very valid point. There has been no news of anything from your hunter connections?” the angel asked, folding his arms over his chest.

 

“Just that there's been a very large lack of cases. On anything. They've said that demon omens come and go in a heartbeat. Like some demon is literally coming to town, and then just leaving. That's the only oddities we've heard,” Bobby said, and it raised a question within Castiel. 

 

“Are they under the impression this demon could be taking care of potential cases in the area?” he asked, earning a thoughtful look from the older man. 

 

“I hadn't thought to ask that. Perhaps, but they just seemed baffled entirely,” he replied. The angel nodded at that, before looking away. 

 

“I'm not sure what it could be, but I've been tracking a few demons who are higher up in the soul-trade business. One by the name of Crowley. I've maintained a connection simply to find out what was going on with them when Lucifer rose.”

 

“You're trusting a demon?” Sam asked, earning a reproachful look from Castiel. “Sorry.”

 

“He's quite clearly not on the side of the demons wanting to die when Lucifer takes form,” Castiel said. “He's about self-preservation, and as long as I remain beneficial to him, he will do the same for me.”

 

“Maybe you could ask him if there's any hunter demons,” Bobby asked, and Castiel was gone almost immediately. Air blew around them, rustling and displacing papers as the two men exchanged glances. 

 

“Does he always do that?”

 

“From what I've noticed, yes,” Bobby responded, looking at the younger Winchester. It made his heart ache to know that Dean had ended up dying for this boy. He couldn't blame Sam, because they had all known the risks going into the fight with Lilith, but that didn't lessen the pain of it all. 

 

There was a lingering hush between them, the occasional rustling of paper or the clack of keys on a laptop breaking the silence. Neither of them realized the time that had passed until Castiel had returned, papers only shifting as the angel appeared before them.

 

“Jeez, Cas, you've been gone two hours,” Bobby said, finally looking over at the clock. 

 

“He was less than forthcoming with the details,” Castiel said, looking between them. “We may have more going on than we can take. Crowley has said he's heard tale of a Knight of Hell roaming.”

 

“A Knight of what?” Sam asked, more incredulous than ignorant. 

 

“Hell. It's a very, very strong demon. From my understanding, they were all wiped out by the father of the Knights, but it seems otherwise.”

 

“Who was the father?” Bobby asked, hands tense against the page of his book.

 

“Cain.”

 

“Wait, Cain, like Cain and Abel?” Sam said before Bobby could. They traded fear between their eyes, before focusing back on the angel.

 

“Yes. Cain was the first Knight after he received the Mark from Lucifer. It could be possible that he is the Knight that is wrecking havoc, but it seems unlikely. He was lost many centuries ago,” Castiel said, a hand running over his face. “I can see if I can track down this Knight. Confront him or her.”

 

“That seems a little too risky, even for you. If they're that powerful, can you even kill one?”

 

“No. Cain would be the only one who could kill them. The First Blade is the only weapon that can kill a Knight of Hell. It cannot kill its source of power, however,” the angel said, taking a seat on the couch. 

 

“Wait, source of its power?” Sam questioned, moving his laptop aside to sit up properly.

 

“The Mark. The two coexist, only working in tandem in order to kill. The First Blade is what Cain used to slay Abel—“

 

“Yeah, I know the story between Cain and Abel. So the Blade is useless to anyone but Cain? And Cain can't kill himself. Can he pass the Mark?” 

 

“I... don't know. I've never heard of a power like that being transferable, so I cannot give you an answer,” Castiel responded.

 

“Well, let's just stick it on the 'that's possible' list,” Sam said, looking over to Bobby. “The Mark. What exactly does it do?”

 

“I don't know. All I know is what is rumored to have happened to Cain. We know he became the first Knight of Hell, and I presume it's from the Mark. I know that the Mark is the source of the Blade's power, and that neither can work without the other. The Mark will not take hold of the soul, unless fueled by the Blade. The Mark will not let go of the soul, at all. Even at the hands of the Blade. So either this Knight is Cain running amok, or your theory that it's transferable is correct. I would much rather believe the latter.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Because if it's Cain, and he is not on our side, there is nothing we can do,” Castiel said, his gaze sinking to the floor. “That Blade can kill anything, except maybe an archangel. From my understanding, that has never been tested.”

 

“So if we tried to interfere, we'd be dead, is what you're saying,” Bobby said, letting the book in his hands fall closed. 

 

“Or as good as,” the angel said, giving him a grim look. “I would like to discover the identity of this Knight, so I feel I must take my leave for time enough to track him down. Before I leave, I will leave you a spell in order to summon Crowley, if I do not return within a weeks' time.”

 

His instruction were hasty, but simple, his hand scrawling quickly across the piece of paper, and then he was gone, air standing where he once stood. The days passed slowly, Bobby having taken it upon himself to educate Sam as he had Dean, figuring it would be a shame to leave him as he was. 

 

It turns out that Sam was just as studious as his brother, but more intimate and open with it. Passion weaved its way into everything he learned, his heart set on making things right. He was quick, and very well practiced in self defense. That let Bobby's heart sit comfortably, knowing that he was at least giving Dean some peace of mind in death. 

 

On the seventh day, just as they were growing concerned with the lack of news, a rustled Castiel appeared, startling them both in the dead of night. 

 

“You look like hell, boy,” Bobby said, earning a squinted look from the angel who turned to Sam.

 

“Neither of you will like this news,” he said, his own movements frantic and jittery. He took a seat on the weathered couch, his fingers fidgeting with the hem of his coat. 

 

“I discovered the identity of the Mark, and it is most definitely transferable,” he said, looking between Bobby and Sam, both of them giving him a look of anticipation.

 

“Well, spit it out,” Bobby said.

 

“It's Dean.”

 

“ _What?!_ ” the older man hissed, his face scrunched up in confusion. “There's no way.”

 

Sam was stunned into silence as he stared at Castiel, his heart beating wildly in his chest. 

 

“I'm sure of it. I went back to Crowley, just to see if he knew anything of the means of how Dean would received this Mark, and it turns out that the demon had aided him in finding both Cain and the Blade about two years ago,” Castiel spoke hastily, his heart beating wildly.

 

“You saw him with your own eyes?” Sam asked, his voice wavering in his need to believe that it wasn't Dean.

 

“Sam, I spoke with him. It's why it took me so long to get back. He nearly killed me,” the angel said, pain making its way into his words. “He was willing to explain everything to me, but I don't understand why.”

 

“What do you mean, explain everything?” Bobby asked, his eyes narrowed. “It seems simple enough.”

 

“It is not. He sought out the power of the Mark, not the Blade. He needed the Mark to transform himself, as he told me. The Mark would provide him powers no human could hope to attain, and he wanted it for more reasons than just smiting Alastair. From what I understand, he felt compelled to become the thing he hated in order to understand it better,” Castiel said morosely. “Unfortunately, his type of demon is entirely different from the demon that Alastair was. “

 

“How do you mean?” Bobby asked, on the edge of his seat. 

 

“He was not tortured for centuries on end in Hell to become the beast he is today. He simply died. He is more human, more conscious of his decisions. Everything is calculated calmly and willingly, and he decides what suits him best. He is ruthless, and willing to sacrifice the one thing that drove him down this road in order to achieve a greater power.”

 

“So he knew this, going into that fight,” Sam said. “Do you think he meant for himself to die then?”

 

“I think that is highly possible,” Castiel confirmed, a frown tugging on his features. 

 

“So who's side is he on?” Bobby asked, the question itching at everyone's mind.

 

“I don't know. I don't think he is on ours, but he doesn't seem to be on theirs. As well, it's near impossible for him to be possessed when he is a demon.”

 

“So what do we do?” Sam asked, frowning. 

 

“There is nothing we can do, Sam.”

 

“We can't cure him? We can't change him back? There's nothing we can do to make him human?”

 

Castiel looked as if he'd been smacked in the face suddenly, his eyes blankly focused on the Winchester.

 

“Now that you mention it...”

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

“This is a sure fire thing?” Sam asked, looking at Castiel. 

 

“Not for certain, Sam. It could kill him, it could fail. I'm not sure, because this has only ever been attempted once before, and not with a Knight of Hell powered by the Mark of Cain. He is in a league of his own,” the angel responded. “I feel certain by now, it'll take us weeks to find him again.”

 

“Are we even going to be able to capture him?”

 

“Holy water should work, because even being powered by the Mark, he's still a new demon. Certain things will be effective for a time.”

 

“Do you think a room made of solid iron and coated in salt would be able to hold him?” Bobby asked, earning an inquisitive look from Castiel and Sam. “What? I had a weekend off.”

 

“So you built a room out of iron?”

 

“A panic room, more like, but yeah. Ghost proof and demon proof. Can't be too safe these days,” the older man responded, earning a smile from Sam.

 

“Has anyone ever told you you're amazing?” the Winchester asked, earning an eye roll. 

 

“Enough of that. We need to start tracking Dean. If those demon signs were all him, he moves fast,” Bobby said, but Castiel provided explanation.

 

“He can teleport,” the angel said. “He has cultivated many skills quickly in his short time of being alive. I feel that as amazing as he was as a hunter, he'll be even more lethal as a demon. No one should take him on alone. He will not hesitate to kill.”

 

“Okay, so how do we track him?”

 

*~*~*~*

 

Dean had been gallivanting all over the world, taking care in his new found power to go anywhere he wished. He had explored the underground of Shanghai, found fleeting love in the allies of Berlin, and massacred an entire village just outside of Prague, because they had looked at him wrong. 

 

He was having the time of his life, which slowed down when a certain buzz kill had found him. 

 

“I have to give you props, Crowley,” he said, his eyes never leaving the ice cubes in his glass. “How'd you find me?”

 

“I never lost you. You leave a dirty trail like you've run through the muck,” said the salesman, his accent odd against the stark Scottish accent of everyone else. 

 

“Hm, that obvious, huh?” he shrugged nonchalantly, before finishing off his drink and tapping it against the bar is askance for another. 

 

“More than obvious. You're feathered friend decided to pay me another visit,” Crowley said, before asking for a drink himself, more politely than Dean had. 

 

“Oh? What'd he have to ask?” 

 

A smirk played across delicate features, giving them a darkness that wouldn't have been presumed of him. Dark green eyes played lightly on his words, giving them a sense of curiosity.

 

“Wanted to know more about how you came by that Mark of yours,” the demon said, earning a low chuckle.

 

“And you told him.”

 

“Gotta play both sides,” Crowley said, blatant. It was the one feature that Dean had liked about him. He was selfish, but knew when to truly help and when to play for himself. In the end, though, it was always for his benefit. 

 

“Well, that only means they'll be hunting me down, looking to cure me, or some other form of persuasion to come back to their side. They want me to help them end an Apocalypse of all things,” he said, a bark of laughter escaping him. “That was never the plan.”

 

“What _was_ your plan, with all this?”

 

“Freedom. They can drone on and on about their Apocalypse, and how Lucifer and Michael will duke it out, but I know how it will go. Lucifer plans on raising the horsemen to wreck havoc until his brother arrives to patch it all up. Makes me wonder if Castiel and the others know there's a third brother. One made in case I never complied. Alastair was always a smart man, but never had the strength to back it up.”

 

“You knew about all of that?”

 

“It was transparent. Once I found all the lore pertaining to demons, and how they came to be, I realized that the other side had to be true, too. There's no way you have demons without anything to combat them. All lore points to them being the creations of Lucifer, who is an angel. Why would there only be one angel? If there's more, then that must mean his dutiful brother existed to restore balance. Therefore, the Apocalypse. 

 

“What other reason would the master of torture inhabit the poor excuse of a man my father was, unless his children had direct play in it? So then I found the stories and the lore behind Cain and Abel, and I sought you out. You know the rest from there,” Dean said, chuckling as he downed half his drink. 

 

“My, my, the little genius aren't we?” Crowley said, his lips curling with amazement. 

 

“Are you surprised?”

 

“Honestly, yes. You don't look like you'd be so smart behind that pretty face of yours,” the man responded, earning a chuckle. 

 

“Looks have always been my deceiving factor. It's played to my advantage every time,” Dean said, tongue darting out to lick his lips. “Now if you'd don't mind, why don't you explain why you're really here. I know it's not to tell me that the angel who fell in love with me is hunting me down.”

 

“What are you plans, Dean? Do you plan to roam the Earth, taking in the world pleasures until there are none left?”

 

“Sounds about right,” the Winchester responded. “Keep howling at the moon until the moon dies, too.”

 

“And then what will you do, when there is no Earth, no Hell or Heaven. You won't die, Dean,” Crowley said.

 

“Are you concerned for me?”

 

“No. I simply want to make sure you won't interfere.”

 

“With what? Your plan to overthrow Hell? Help Sammy-boy and Asstiel to take out Lucifer? That plan won't work. The Colt won't kill him. In fact, the only thing I know of that could kill Lucifer is Michael himself, but that's not really an option, so I guess you're sittin' on a stick until the end of the world.”

 

“You'd be surprised to know that's not my plan. I know you don't want the world to end so soon, even if you've got all your life to explore it,” Crowley said, his expression annoyed.

 

“Please, entertain me.”

 

“If the door can open once, it can open again,” Crowley said, and he got a long, loud laugh out of Dean.

 

“Oh, right, because Lucifer will so willingly jump right back into the pit,” Dean said, still laughing as he looked over at Crowley. “Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?”

 

“I didn't say just Lucifer. Sam will say yes at some point, because he'll think his angel buddy conceived this plan all on his own. Lucifer will jump him, and then Sam will jump straight through an open door.”

 

“And you plan to undo 66 seals by yourself?”

 

“You don't need to use the seals. There's another way to open the door to the cage. Collect the rings of the four horsemen,” Crowley said, causing Dean to narrow his eyes. 

 

“So we what, kill the horsemen, never mind the fact that one of them is Death, and take their rings?”

 

“The fact that you included the word 'we' in your statement, means you assume I will ask your help.”

 

“You came to me to talk about. It's an easy assumption,” Dean said, his lips pursed. “I'd like you to convince me as to why I should even help.”

 

“Because your worldly pleasure will all but disappear on a roasted planet, and I don't see you being a solitary man,” Crowley said, giving him a disbelieving glare. 

 

“You pose a strong point, but not enough to make me inclined towards your cause.”

 

“I know for a fact that if you don't have anything to kill, you'll be miserable. That's half the point of your funfest, right? Finding people with no sentimental attachment to fuck and kill?”

 

“Now you incline me,” Dean said, looking over at the man out the side of his eye. “Who's the first target?”

 

*~*~*~*

 

“You've found him?”

 

“I did. It seems like he's in Chicago. There's major omens there, boy, and I don't think it's just Dean there,” Bobby said, looking over at Sam. “You might wanna call Cas.”

 

“I'm here,” came a voice, startling both of them as they looked up. “It is Dean as well as Death.”

 

“ _Death?!”_ Sam asked, his eyes wide and incredulous. 

 

“Yes.”

 

“Like the Horseman?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What the hell is Death doing walking on Earth?” Sam asked, Castiel's eyes focused on him.

 

“It would seem Lucifer's bidding. Lucifer found a vessel weeks ago. I find it hard to fathom that he would release Death first, but I've not seen sign of any of the other Horsemen,” the angel said, his arms folding over his chest in concern. 

 

“That's a bad thing?” 

 

“It could be. I don't know what to think of this. Death is the most difficult Horseman to control or raise. It would seem more likely to raise him last,” Castiel said, his brows creasing in frustration.

 

“Aside from all of that, what are we going to do? Are we going to go to Chicago?”

 

“And deal with Death and Dean? Seems a bit suicidal, don't ya think, Sam?” Bobby asked, garnering both of their attentions. 

 

“Why would Dean be in the same place as Death? They're both immortal beings. I doubt that Dean is really working for Lucifer, so they're not there together. Dean is either there for shits and giggles, or he's there to fight Death.”

 

Silence washed over him for a brief moment, before Castiel spoke again, nodding slightly. 

 

“Your logic is sound based on the information we know about Dean. We should go to Chicago.”

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Dean Winchester.”

 

“Hiya,” Dean said as he took a seat across from the older man, who seemed old beyond words, yet his form was merely middle-aged.

 

“To what do I owe this displeasure?”

 

“I'm sure you know what I'm here for,” Dean said, smirk playing on his lips as he took a piece of pizza from the tray that Death had. 

 

“My ring, it would seem. Your plans to overthrow Lucifer and put him back in the cage,” Death confirmed, his eyebrows arched high. “You believe in this plan.”

 

“I believe in tossing my brother with an angel in his head into a giant hole in the ground, yes,” Dean said after taking a bite of the pizza. “Mmm. God, this is amazing. Makes me miss food.”

 

“You would not attempt it with the vessel Lucifer has now?”

 

“That is as suicidal as I could get,” Dean said. “To try and approach him with his current vessel, the plan would likely fail. Unfortunately, I have to rely on family bonds and strength of... _love_ to overcome the petulant dick.”

 

“That is one way to put it,” Death replied, looking displeased with the fact that Dean was eating his pizza.

 

“So I need your ring.”

 

“What could you offer me in return?”

 

“That is a tricky question, because you've had everything. In one way or another. What I can offer really relies on what you'd like,” Dean said, leaning forward. “I'm willing to offer next to anything. Except the Mark of Cain's removal.”

 

“Lucky for you, that is not my request,” Death said, his head tilting downwards. “I simply want to reinforce that you should not let your plan fail. I can and I will kill you if you waste this kindness of mine.”

 

“Sounds fine by me,” he said, before the heaviest weight in the world was dropped into the palm of his hand.

 

*~*~*~*

 

“Heya, Sammy,” Dean said, his fingers dancing across ivory keys as if he was seriously considering playing. It was a joke, though. He didn't know how to play piano.

 

“Dean,” Sam said, his eyes pleading, muscles quivering with every fiber of his being in attempt to lure his brother home.

 

“You know, it's interesting seeing you from this side of the wall,” the demon quipped, lips quirking upwards in the facade of a smile. “I'm truly curious as to what Alastair saw in you. Doubt, naivety. That one is pretty attractive, I must say. You'll believe almost anything if you want to.”

 

“That's not true,” Sam said, his upper lip curling in defense.

 

“Right? Because Cas told you there's a cure, right? Shove me chock full of human blood and bam! I'm human again!”

 

The look he received was answer enough, his laughter dancing on ears as his whole body shook with it.

 

“Oh, Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. That's only half a cure,” Dean said, half smirk claiming his face as he swiveled on the bench. “See, there's this nice mark here that really made me into what I am. Who I am. You can't just cut it off, because it's _in_ me.”

 

“We can figure out a way around that, Dean,” Sam said, taking a step forward, but he was stopped as his brother was suddenly in front of him.

 

“Can you?” the demon growled, eyes black and threatening. “Because last I checked, and did I check, it will only go away if I pass it on. To someone willing. Well, Cain, he's dead, so I can't give it back to him, and even if you cure me, that doesn't mean that this me is gone. I'll always be here, Sammy. I'll always want to kill you.”

 

The younger man swallowed, taking a step back, and the demon allowed him. 

 

“I will always want to rip your throat out with my bare hands, to feel the way your flesh gives and rips beneath my fingers. Blood lust will raise up in me, and I will destroy you in ways that humans can't even conceive, because I will follow you to the pits of Hell and I will make sure that for centuries on end _I_ am the one who is tearing you apart, piece by piece as you scream and beg for mercy. Only after a millennium, will I consider even giving you a break, because I will never die. I will never age, and my hunger for your death and suffering will never end. 

 

“I will be the death of you, Sam Winchester.”

 

A shiver ran through Sam's entire body, his fight or flight in overdrive as he took another step back. This was an entirely terrifying being in front of him. It was not his brother from all those years ago. The man who was compassionate, yet always in pain, caring for others without second thought. This was a monster.

 

“After all of that, do you know what I will do next?”

 

A shake of the head was Dean's response. 

 

“I will watch as you rise and become one of my Knights, and I will groom you into the perfect servant.”

 

“Dean,” came a voice from behind them, causing a genuine smile to cross Dean's face as he turned, greeted by the sight of Castiel.

 

“Hey they, Babe,” he said, giving the angel a wink. “Trying to coerce me onto the path of righteousness?”

 

“I'm sorry?” Castiel asked, taken aback by the term of endearment. 

 

“You only need to coerce me in one way,” Dean said, suddenly appearing behind Castiel, wrapping his arms around his shoulders, resting his chin on his shoulder. “But you're a virgin, aren't you?”

 

Dean laughed as he released him, appearing between Castiel and Sam. “Did you bring Bobby, too? Is this going to be a grand ol' family reunion?”

 

“No,” Sam said, finally regaining his voice, his eyes narrowed at Dean.

 

“Oh? Why not?” he asked tilting his head as he smiled viciously at his brother. “Scared I'll kill him? That's a bit rude.”

 

“Well, excuse me for expecting less from a demon.”

 

“You make a point,” Dean said with a shrug. “But you'll be pleased to know I actually come bearing gifts and a message.”

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah. A way to put Lucy-loo back in the pit,” Dean said, a malicious and deviant smile plastered to his face. 

 


End file.
